


Eight Months

by Zanne



Series: John Winchester/Illyria 'verse [18]
Category: Angel: the Series, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-10
Updated: 2011-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-20 07:11:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanne/pseuds/Zanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at the first eight months of their baby's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eight Months

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to hakirby for beta-ing my John/Illyria reserve. Kripke owns the Winchesters and Whedon owns Illyria.

  
1st Month   


“Illyria,” John called out with concern. “Look at our daughter.”

He held up a onesie against Anz'a’s chest as she hung onto his pant leg. “Does she look like she fits into any of her clothes anymore?”

Anz'a let go and toddled towards her mother, lifting her arms and demanding, “Up!”

“Maybe as a hat,” Illyria suggested stoically, purposefully ignoring John’s sweeping gesture as he pointed at their ambulatory daughter with eyes wide and filled with questions.

  
                                                             

  
2nd Month   


“Either she’s a freakin’ giant or something’s up,” John said with a frown.

“My original form was at least five time larger than the average human,” Illyria informed him in passing.

“What the fu-,” John began, his eyes widening.

“Drink now,” Anz'a demanded, tugging on John’s hand. “Want blue cup.”

John bit back his curse and smiled gently down at his daughter. “Yes, sweetie. Daddy will get you your juice.”

John glanced at his wife accusingly. “Did you hear that? She just _asked_ for a drink in a _specific_ cup. She should still be making spit bubbles and sleeping all day – maybe even at the same time.”

“I am sure if you asked her to spit, she would oblige you,” Illyria replied soothingly.

“That’s not the point,” John muttered. “If she asks to borrow the car next week, I’m going to start getting suspicious.” He tugged on his lower lip, adding, “ _Five times normal size_?! Where would we find shoes?”

  
                                                                     

  
4th Month   


“I had thought things were going pretty smoothly over the past couple of months. No sudden growth spurts, her shoes still fit….” John pulled Anz'a out from behind his legs, an old red T-shirt of John’s serving as a makeshift dress. “This is all that fits her.”

“Pwetty red dress,” Anz'a told Illyria, holding out the draping waistline. “I picks it out.”

“Red is the color of our dynasty,” Illyria began, staring boldly down at the upturned face of Anz'a, who gazed up at her mother with an odd look of absorption. “When you rule over this dimension….”

“ _Illyria_ ,” John growled warningly. “I told you we are not turning our child into Lex Luthor. She is _not_ going to rule the universe.”

“Not even a small portion?” Illyria asked with a frown. John just shook his head sternly.

Illyria blinked unapologetically. “As you wish.” She continued a moment later with absolute certainty, “However, if they _choose_ to grant her kingship, she shall be gracious and accept.”

John knelt down, smiling widely so that his teeth flashed white against his dark stubble, his dimples bracketing the expression like parentheses. “Anz'a will be the smartest and prettiest lady in the whole world and she will use her gifts to _help_ people.”

“An efficient ruler can be quite helpful,” Illyria opined with a sly tilt to her blue-tinged lips.

John just gave Illyria another pointed stare before reaching to swoop up Anz'a into his arms. “I hope you slow down on growing, baby. I want you to stay Daddy’s little girl for a _long_ time.”

  
                                                             

  
8th Month   


“Argh!” John cried as he struggled to pull a shirt over Anz'a’s head. “I thought we were done with this!”

John put his hands on his hips as he turned to face Illyria, and Anz'a mimicked his movements, her blue-black curls nearly reaching his hip. “She’s the biggest 8 month old I’ve ever seen! She’s going to be in high school by next month, isn’t she?”

Anz'a patted at his thigh comfortingly, singing the ABC song off-key to him as Illyria replied, “I do not believe so. Her growth seems to have slowed to human speed.”

Illyria cocked her head in a contemplative fashion, reassuring him with, “She seems about the size of that dull human child that lives down the road. That creature is 4 annual cycles, is it not?”

John grumbled something that sounded like an affirmative so Illyria tilted her head down to address the child as she demanded in a proud tone, “Show your father what I taught you yesterday.” Illyria paused before adding, “The non-lethal one.”

Anz'a’s little tennis shoe clad foot shot out, hitting John in the back of the knee as she let out a melodious shriek, making him fall to the ground with a thump. As he tried to regain his balance, Anz'a’s chubby little fist hit him square in the nose and he winced in pain, quickly holding up a hand to hide the damage.

“Thab’s greab, sweebie,” John said in a distinctly nasal tone. “Why bon’t you go bay in your ‘oom?” After Anz'a skipped off, John groaned, removing his hand to reveal blood staining his upper lip. He pinched the bridge of his nose and grumbled unhappily, “I thib she boke my bose.”

Illyria said, with obvious parental pride, “You should see her with a dagger. Extremely graceful for a creature with only two arms.”

“Illyria!” John gurgled through the blood draining into his throat from his nose. “No weabons! She’s too yug!”

Illyria sniffed dismissively. “I have not been training her, yet. I recall what we agreed upon.” Illyria placed her hands gently alongside his nose, shifting her grip sharply to reset it.

As John grimaced in pain and fell to the floor with a muffled whimper, Illyria continued, “Anz'a uses it to cut her peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.” 

  
 


End file.
